Let Me Love You (Or, Regina Dances Drunk and Emma Walks In)
by queerfemme
Summary: Pretty much what it says on the proverbial tin. Pure Swan Queen fluff.


She came home early that night, wanting to surprise her new lover.

She knew the former mayor was having a rough time adjusting to her work in the stables - love horses though she did, it was difficult for her to work in the place where she had said her last goodbye to Daniel - instead of in Town Hall, with significantly less control over her daily affairs and an almost unbelievable reduction in the amount of control she had on anyone else's life.

The sheriff slipped into the threshold of her home - still shocked whenever she consciously thought of the mansion as home, _her _home - precariously opening the door with her hip as she balanced an amalgam of grocery bags to make dinner with and two dozen red roses to prelude love-making with, proud of her classiness.

Even more proud that she had gotten from store to bug and bug to door without dropping anything essential, she almost lost her streak of luck when she music blasting from the kitchen greeted her ears. She had arranged for Henry to spend the night with Ava, Nicholas, and Grace - he seemed fairly attached to Nicholas, and Emma was pleased to encourage the boy to become closer with other children, even if romantically - so she knew it couldn't be him. Anyway, she knew her son's tastes well enough to know that he most likely didn't listen to Kelly Clarkson (she'd taught him better than that). So what was going on in the kitchen?

She almost dropped the bags in shock as a voice rose to match Kelly's, proclaiming that she wasn't lonely when she's alone. Mouth and eyes widening in shocked glee, Emma slid the bags to the floor and put the roses on the table. Tip-toeing to the kitchen, she peered into the door, to see her lover jumping along with the music, apron on over work blouse and pencil skirt, a ladle as her microphone, hair haphazardly moving with the tossing of her head, non-microphoning arm only leaving the air to accentuate a point or to reach for a swig from the glass of cider that sat, mostly empty, on the counter, constantly in danger of Regina knocking it over with the sensual, abandoned swinging of her hips.

_She's actually got a great voice_, Emma thought in a state somewhere between adoration and hilarity, both emotions tinged with affectionate awe. She could do nothing but stand in the doorway and stare, slack-jawed and perhaps drooling at the way that exquisite woman could shake her ass and throw her voice. She almost forgot that she was an expected intruder on Regina's moment.

When Regina spun in her enthusiasm, singing for the whole house - and perhaps all of Storybrooke - to hear that she was stronger because life hadn't killed her, she saw Emma standing there and, mortified at the intrusion, slammed off her record player (how Regina had the past few years' worth of top 40s in record form, Emma thought perhaps she'd never know). She said nothing, just glared at Emma with wide eyes, demanding an explanation.

"I came home early to make dinner for you. I brought roses - they're - in the - I - "

"That's quite alright, Ms. Swan, I was just - I came home early to surprise you, as well, and I was just... baking."

Emma smiled apologetically as the redness in Regina's cheeks began to rival Emma's leather jacket in hue.

"Do you want to... _bake_... together, baby?"

She slipped past Regina and fiddled with the records for a moment, finding the one she wanted and - impressing herself and, against her will, the former mayor - successfully sent music flooding through the kitchen.

She slid her arms around Regina, whose figure had gone limp in embarrassment.

"You're a really wonderful baker, Regina. You sound and look so great when you... _bake_. I bet it'd feel really amazing to bake with you." She swayed her hips against her lover's playfully in time to the song she had selected, waiting, smiling, until the music reached the point she wanted it to.

"Let me?" she asked, perfectly in sync as Ne-Yo implored the object of his affections to let him love her. "Until you leaarrrn to love yourselfff," Emma sang tunelessly, softly, as she looked into Regina's eyes.

Blushing like a school boy, Regina returned Emma's adorable, self-conscious smile, knowing Emma was making herself vulnerable by singing - _so off-key, yet so perfect_ - to make Regina feel better about being caught with a drink and a song in her feet (and hips. And arms. And legs. And ass. And mouth.)

And she decided then and there to, for once, surrender to herself and let Emma love her.

Forever.


End file.
